A Paintballing Balling

I recently came across a picture of the gang and myself when we went paint balling in the wilds of Cheshire in England. Not only am I mentally challenged to remember most of the names of the team, due the age of the photo, but a 28 year old version of myself is striking a well ard pose with a limited amount of success.

I was useless at the game. Other photos taken in the heat of the action show me in various vigilant poses on guard against the enemy. The rest of the team in the background are drinking, smoking, sharing a joke and generally at ease. There is a particular picture which sums up my ability to go to war. I’m lying on the ground , gun trained in one direction – the rest of my team are doing the same thing but in the opposite direction.

At one point I remember having a conversation with the enemy as to why he shouldn’t shoot me. My main line of defence was trying to blackmail him into letting me go ie. barring him from the pub I managed (well it was worth a try!). It didn’t work and when he finally pulled the trigger, he winged me – no more after hours drinking for this punter I thought savagely as I examined the paint splatter on my arm. Another argument ensued as to whether I was mortally wounded or not. Finally in despair of ever getting back into the game he shot me again in the stomach – twice. It hurt like hell but it settled the argument.

Several hours later I got my own back. We were holed up in a ditch with the opposition at 6, 8 and 9 o’clock. Suddenly they charged and he of the stomach shooting incident sailed over the hole above me. I instinctively pointed the paint gun upward and fired a shot. It hit him in the balls. His death yell turned into a pained scream as he crumpled in the air and fell into the ditch. Despite the majority of my team being men, they found the incident hilarious and cheered as the enemy writhed on the ground in agony. His side, however, had a moment of empathy and withdrew to a safe distance in case I decided to deploy this new method of destruction on them.

After a day of running miles around a forest we hung up the guns, headed for the pub and a free meal being prepared by the Gail – beloved landlady of the Red Lion. Having a headache I popped round the corner to my house and chucked a couple of tablets down my throat. Intending to change into something clean and head back to the pub to eat, I wearily sat down on the bedroom floor to change my shoes. An hour later I woke up laid out on the floor with a carpet indent on my cheek. I had literally passed out and I hadn’t even had one alcoholic drink! Staggering back to the pub I found that my unconcerned team members had eaten my dinner in my absence. Ungrateful b……….ds, the ball in the balls incident had saved some of their miserable skins. I barred them all!